


S'more

by lifeinwords



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-14
Updated: 2011-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-20 09:55:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeinwords/pseuds/lifeinwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our intrepid heroes brave the dangers of camping. (Written post-GoF)</p>
            </blockquote>





	S'more

Watching Malfoy take the required Introduction to Muggles course would be the best part of Harry’s day if Professor Schwartz hadn’t paired them alphabetically across Houses for the practical homework assignments. Malfoy seemed to think this gave him license to complain to Harry about the pointlessness of every task, as though Harry would someday be convinced that Muggles really were too stupid to live.

“An entire chapter called Muggle Foods and Their Communal Consumption? The man’s insane. He’ll want us to go shopping in Muggle stores next.” Malfoy was practically vibrating with indignation, and Harry just buried his face further into his text. Just ignore him, and perhaps he’ll shut up, he thought. As though that had ever worked before.

“Potter. Potter! Potttterrrrr…” He had to stop the whining. Harry laid his head on the back of the chair and looked up.

“What, Malfoy? Forgotten your supplies for tonight’s exercise?” Harry carefully marked his place in the book and prepared for an outburst. When they weren’t directed at him, Malfoy’s rages were almost amusing.

“This isn’t food. It’s preposterous for Schwartz to make us eat this! It’s all white, and gooey, and it doesn’t even smell like anything!” Malfoy dropped the bag on the table.

“They’re marshmallows—made of sugar, I think. You put them on sticks and roast them over a campfire. It’s supposed to be fun.” Harry kept his voice as calm and informative as possible, and tried unsuccessfully to slip the bag under his arm. They were going to be late if they didn’t leave soon.

“Fun? Have you even read the assignment, Potter?” Malfoy waved the plastic sack around, and then scowled at it as though it wasn’t creating quite the right effect. He moved on to his overnight bag.

“We have to rub sticks together, and hang these…these things over them once they’re on fire, and I don’t know how Schwartz imagines that’s going to happen, but then we have to eat them! We have to sleep on the ground, like indigents, and eat things that aren’t food!” Malfoy’s eyes were wide, and Harry thought he looked good when he wasn’t busy looking smug.

Harry ducked as Malfoy’s bag swung dangerously close to his head. It was made of some fine material like black satin, and there wasn’t a scratch on it. Figures, Harry thought. He picked up his beaten-up laundry bag and started off down the hall, nodding at Ron and Blaise. Blaise was taking their electric torch apart and looking fascinated as Ron checked to make sure they had everything. Ron turned to Blaise with a scowl on his face.

“A cooler? Cooler than what? Sod this list, let’s just go.” Harry shook his head and tried not to laugh. Schwartz had given Ron hot dogs as his Muggle food assignment, and Harry’d made the mistake of telling Ron what they were made of. No wonder he wasn’t interested in preserving their supplies.

Malfoy followed him down the steps and out onto the grass, grumbling all the while.

“Look.” Harry stopped walking and turned to Malfoy. “I don’t want to do this any more than you do, especially not with you, so let’s just get it over with, okay? Stop complaining and hurry up. At least you got fun food.” He fished around in his bag for the can.

“See?” Malfoy stopped kicking rocks and looked up.

“What on earth is that supposed to be?”

“Cheez Whiz.”

“Cheese what?” Malfoy took the can and popped off the orange top. He peered at the nozzle.

“Cheez Whiz. It’s like, runny and gooey and you put it on crackers. Don’t push that! It spurts out pretty quickly, and I think it’s our only dinner, other than the marshmallows. I even brought some crackers, because. Well. It’s pretty gross without them, I’ve heard.” Harry reached his hand out for the can, and then jumped back as Malfoy aimed it at him.

“So you’d rather work with anyone but me, is that it? Are Malfoys not good enough for you, Potter?”

“Don’t be stupid!” Harry waved his arms and retreated slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on the yellow-and-white can as it followed his movements. “You’ve always been an utter prat to me, Malfoy. That’s why.”

“And you don’t think people can change?” Malfoy sounded almost wounded, and Harry wondered if he’d stepped into another universe. He kept talking, though, and rummaged around in the bag behind him for his textbook, a shirt, anything to protect him.

“Dammit, Malfoy, this is an insane conversation. Yes, I think people can change, but I have to see proof before I believe it. Now just put the can down, and we can see if there are any spots left on the pitch.” Malfoy lowered his arm suddenly and looked confused. Harry hoped it was some kind of conscience, and took his hand out of his bag. Slinging it over his shoulder, he pointed at the north end of the pitch.

“There looks good. Not too hilly or rocky.” Then he heard it. A reverse-sucking sound and a splat. Something warm and runny was trickling down his neck.

“That’s it. You’re dead, Malfoy.” But Malfoy was already running over to where Harry had pointed, laughing hysterically and waving his arms.

“It’s because he’s American!” Malfoy wheezed over his shoulder as Harry struggled to catch up. “No proper British professor would ever make us eat liquid cheese in a can!”

“Don’t think you’re getting away with this! I know where you’re sleeping, and without me you won’t be having any chocolate with your marshmallows!” Harry called out after him. Suddenly Malfoy was jogging back over, trying to look innocent.

“Chocolate?”

Harry rolled his eyes. It was like doing homework with a child. A bratty, easily-bored child. “Yes, chocolate. You see, there’re these things called s’mores…”

 

***

 

“So the directions say to hold them like this.” Malfoy got a splinter five minutes in and declared himself in charge of the ‘pitiful excuses for food that we’ll be forcing down this evening.’

Harry knew it was pointless to explain how this was supposed to go, especially since he didn’t know anything about building fires, but Malfoy seemed to think he knew everything about the Muggle world, and well. It was nice, knowing more than Malfoy about something for once. Even if a lot of it was pretend, like when Malfoy had been poking at the marshmallows and wondering what “use they were?”

“It’s fun to explode them in a microwave,” Harry had pointed out.

“What’s a microwave?” Malfoy had countered. Harry had to think about that one.

“Well, it’s like an oven. But faster.” Malfoy had scoffed.

“Why would anyone need one, or want to make these things explode? I don’t doubt it makes an enormous mess. Muggles. Honestly.”

Harry hated to admit it, thinking it over now, but Malfoy had a point. Muggles did do a lot of stupid things, like try to light a fire with sticks when lighters or matches would work perfectly well. And Professor Schwartz, eccentric and out of it as he seemed, could be trying to make that very point. Harry rubbed the sticks together harder and heard Malfoy get up, probably bored with the silence.

“Fine, you look like an idiot and rub sticks together all night. I’m going to sleep.” Malfoy was halfway to the tent before Harry processed his words.

“Wait!” Malfoy hesitated, and Harry didn’t know why he sounded so…desperate. “The assignment states that we have to remain outside, around our fire, for at least an hour. Schwartz will be coming by to check on us.”

“And what on earth shall we do, Potter? Play Exploding Snap in the dark?”

“We’re supposed to do Muggle camping things. You know, complain about school or our jobs, roast the marshmallows, tell some ghost stories.” Malfoy was wiggling into his sleeping bag now, face visible through the open tent flap, and Harry didn’t want to sit out here alone in the growing night.

“What, like the Bloody Baron’s deathday stories? That’s just silly, Potter; I’m not going to do that. Ghosts are annoying, haunting all the time. Bothering you when you try to study or take a show---well. Really.” Harry grinned.

“Some ghost walked—er, floated in on you while you were in the shower? Which one? Don’t tell me the Baron’s a Peeping Tom.” Malfoy had wrapped himself up and in until only a tuft of hair was visible.

“Shut up. I’m sure it was an accident. And we’re not talking about it, so stop asking.” Great, now he was pouting. A pouting Malfoy soon became a whining Malfoy, the only Malfoy worse than an angry Malfoy. Harry wondered when he’d begun to care about Malfoy’s moods. Well, they were working together, after all. It was only natural.

“Well, roasting marshmallows is kind of necessary, you know, if you want to make s’mores. The hot marshmallow melts the chocolate, remember? And I’ve got a whole package of graham crackers and two chocolate bars, here. Guess I’ll be eating them all by myself.” Harry counted to ten.

“Give me those sticks, you stupid person. Bribing me with chocolate, how low can you get?” Malfoy started rubbing vigorously, and Harry just crouched next to him, staring at his hands moving back and forth, up and down.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Go get some roasting things!” Malfoy’s face was red with exertion, and Harry jumped when he spoke. Roasting things—er, marshmallow roasting sticks, right. There was a tree beyond the hill…

 

***

 

It was nice, Harry reflected. Though he could see other campfires making pockets of warmth in the darkness, their own seemed far away from the whispers and giggles and occasional screams of his classmates. He and Malfoy were sharing a rock, poking lazily at the finally-started fire and laughing about class.

“No, the best was when you kept looking at the typewriter like it was going to attack you. You jumped every time the bell rang, and…” Harry was laughing so hard he couldn’t speak.

“Hey, stop it! I couldn’t figure out if it wanted something! Stupid machine, why does it do that, anyway?” Malfoy dug his toe into the grass and scowled at Harry, who was lying prone on the ground and gasping for air.

“I think the best time was when you spilled that white stuff all over Zabini’s typewriter. It was spelled—just like Zabini to make Muggle gadgets come to life. Thinks they’re fascinating, though I can’t imagine why. Anyway, when it tried to bite you? And you screamed like a girl?” Malfoy snickered. “Brave Harry Potter, undone by a big hunk of metal. If your fans could’ve seen you then.”

“Some people…have dragons to…fight…” Harry choked out. “I got the Typewriter of Eternal Doom! Its keys tear you to bits!”

“Don’t forget the earphones that strangle you in your sleep. We tried to tell Schwartz that you couldn’t play Muggle music at Hogwarts, but would he listen?” Malfoy grinned. “We all looked such fools, with those huge things on our heads and hearing nothing!”

“And the food! You know he gave Dean sardines in a can?” Harry put out an arm and Malfoy tugged him onto the rock.

“I think that man’s got an unhealthy obsession with cans. Look what he gave us! Attack Cheese and…and…” Malfoy squinted at the almost empty bag on the ground. “The Marshmallow that Time Forgot!”

“Malfoy, that doesn’t make any sense.” Harry sniggered anyway, and watched Malfoy stride over to the fire, arms waving grandly. The light flickered across his face.

“It’s a…it’s a metaphor, Potter. It’s old, forgotten, and has mysterious powers, like. Now get in my bag and pass me the typewriter ribbon in there. I want to see if it’ll burn.”  
Harry handed over the ribbon and reminded himself never to give Malfoy sugar again.

“Of course it’ll burn! Everything burns in a fire, even a Muggle one. Besides, how’d you get a typewriter ribbon?”

“Stole it off of Schwartz’s desk. Think of it as a, a what-do-you-call-it. A symbol of our revolt. We will no longer be oppressed by stupid homework assignments!” Malfoy was shouting now, and Harry couldn’t breathe. It was strange and wrong and couldn’t possibly be true that he was having fun with Malfoy, Malfoy, but there it was. He jumped as someone at the camp on the left yelled.

“Hey, keep it down! People are trying to sleep!”

Harry stood up slowly, rubbing his stomach, and walked over to shut Malfoy up. Then he noticed the other boy staring down at his arm. “Malfoy? What is it?”

“Why am I suddenly on fire?”

Harry looked down. The ribbon was curling in the middle of the fire, and somehow the end had gotten stuck on the edge of Malfoy’s robes. Typical of Malfoy to wear his robes until the last possible minute, but Harry didn’t think about that for more than a second because Malfoy’s arm was on fire.

Frantically, Harry looked around for something to put it out. He spied the bucket of water that the assignment had thankfully required they have nearby and dumped it over Malfoy’s head, half-drenching himself in the process.

The boys stared at each other for a long moment.

“What the hell did you just do, Potter?” Malfoy ground out through clenched teeth.

“Um, saved your life?” Harry was shaking, and he wished he had a towel. Malfoy looked even colder.

“Saved my life? It was barely a spark, not even a flame, two layers away from my skin and easily fixable through the use of a wand, and you call it saving my life? You bloody idiot!”

Then again, maybe Harry didn’t. “Consider it payment in full for the Cheez Whiz. And for eating the last s’more.”

“That’s…that’s despicable!” But Malfoy didn’t look so angry anymore. In fact, he looked almost pleased.

“Here, come sit down and warm up. You look like a drowned rat. I’ll get my robe so you can change into it.” Harry led Malfoy over to the rock, watching his teeth chatter and his clothes drip. They sat in silence for a minute after Harry fetched the robe, eyes fixed on the remaining half of their campfire. Malfoy turned his head and looked critically at Harry.

“You’ve still got some of that awful stuff in your hair, you know. Right…there.” Malfoy dragged his fingers behind Harry’s ear and down the side of his neck. “See?” Harry shivered again.

“Well, you’ve got chocolate and goo all round your mouth still, even after a good dunking, so I’d keep my mouth shut.” Malfoy smirked, but it looked nicer, even wet and cold as he had to be. Harry swallowed.

“Show me?”


End file.
